


i'm a ghost and you know this

by fuscience



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, side Isaac/Allison, side Scott/Kira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuscience/pseuds/fuscience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bleeding isn’t as easy when you don’t have a heartbeat. If only loving her was a little harder now too. Stiles dies and Stiles lives. Stiles is a zombie and Stiles still loves Lydia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm a ghost and you know this

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have a weird obsession with Stiles losing his human status but not being a werewolf. Because Lydia would totally worry about the impact of being a zombie because she is very clearly a mad scientist. Because I miss bowling. And bad jokes. 
> 
> Sort of continuation of the other fic to have a heart, but really all you need to know is that exorcising the nogitsune involved Stiles’ dying and then he came back.

Inspiration:

* * *

 

 

 

_"The body was rendered nude and placed in a horizontal position on a platform. A very small incision was then made in the left arm, to get at a vein; a tube was then inserted in the vein, and attached to a pump; the pump was set in a vessel containing about two gallons of a prepared fluid, and then this fluid was injected into the blood vessels._

_Before the commencement of the operation, the face was very much emaciated, and the body quite reduced; but in a few seconds after the commencement of the embalming process, the blood vessels began to enlarge, the face became full, and the whole body assumed a life-like healthy appearance."_

\- February 26, 1862 Berlin, Germany

excerpt of letter from Capt. William Bugh

 

 

Lydia shows up on his doorstep promptly at one in the morning, like she has every other night this week.

 

Stiles gets it, he really does because he's been there. Having someone die on you - whether they come back or not - is extremely traumatizing and can cause slightly irregular behavioral patterns.

 

For example, after his mom died, Stiles ate burritos for two weeks straight. He doesn't even like burritos - always been more of a hard shell taco fan. ( _No one except Scott knows this, but his family used to have Mexican Mondays and Stiles’ mom would make burritos bigger than the plate._ )

But she _really_ can't just show up in his room this late and not expect questions. Stiles wonders what she's thinking - he's usually not that bad at reading her - but tonight there's a blank look of indifference on her face like the fact she's been crawling into his bed for the past seven days means nothing despite his not-so-secret feelings. Maybe it doesn't to her.

 

"Soooo...?" He trails off uncertainly.

 

Lydia lies next to him in his new bed, the barest of spaces between them. It's been two weeks since he rose from the dead and his heart stopped beating - not, obviously, in that order. Stiles slept for days afterward, everyone by his bedside, and he still seems to suffer from some semi-narcoleptic side effect with his body giving out at random times. Just yesterday, he fell asleep while driving to Scott’s so, the sheriff took his keys away and he’s no longer allowed to drive without someone in the car with him. Stiles isn't really sure how the whole thing works physiologically considering there's no heart pumping oxygen or necessary nutrients being funneled to his brain or organs, but it's really a moot point with werewolves and banshees and druids and considering his body was recently possessed by an ancient dark spirit. He's learned not to question some things.

 

Lydia continues to ignore him and plucks a red string dangling above her head. She doesn't hear anything but the typical vibrato and this makes her frown.

 

"Lot more solved now." She states and he watches her trace a line of green that criss cross es overhead, fingernails scraping against the twine.

 

"Yeah. Well with everything messed up in my room,"  The new bed, the new dresser, new clothes - his father bought him all new things because they didn't want a reminder of all the items Not-Stiles had tainted. "I decided to redo the board. We figured out a lot anyway."

 

She hums in affirmation, letting her hand fall. His sheets are burgundy, like wine, and Lydia internally applauds his improved taste.

 

"What's going on Lydia?” He’s both concerned and apprehensive about her strange appearances here every night, “You come over all the time, but you don't really do or say anything and I - I'm like super confused."

 

"Are you the tin man?" She murmurs, turning her head away from Stiles' befuddled form. Before her parent’s marriage had  devolved into malicious little arguments and spiteful one-liners Lydia’s father would sit by her bedside and read excerpts from an old, yellowed copy of Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

 

He has no heart.

 

_The tin man loved a girl, but the witch who owned her had no desire to set the servant free. Piece by piece the witch chopped him up, and piece by piece he was rebuilt into tin. Its really too bad - they had the arms, the legs, the hands; they remembered the toes, the fingers, the eyes, but they forgot the heart. The poor tin man couldn't love the girl without a heart._

 

After a moment of silent contemplation, Lydia looks over. Stiles has fallen asleep, drawn back into the world of the dead.

 

Sleep she calls it though he draws no breath and they have yet to prove he enters into REM cycles.

 

Lydia sighs and watches him, eyelashes brushing pale cheeks ( _because there's no blood rushing through the veins)_. She doesn't touch him and instead reaches over his sleeping form to pull the cover up and over them both. He doesn't get cold anymore, but it’s a nice, human gesture. It's what she would do if Stiles were alive.

 

Sleep is easy when they are next to each other, but if Lydia were honest She would explain she needs a rhythm to fall asleep. Tonight, if his heart will no longer beat for her than she will use her imagination.

 

**V. If I should go tomorrow**

**It would never be goodbye,**

 

"Are you the tin man?" She asks.

 

"Uhhh, no. I'm a midfielder. You know that Lydia." Her eyebrows raise because how can someone be that smart and this clueless simultaneously she doesn't know. Maybe it's a Stiles thing.

 

Lydia sits on the bleachers watching lacrosse practice, like it’s sophomore year all over again and half of her friends (more than half) aren’t creatures from some archaic mythology book. She sits there like they’re all normal and Stiles leans over the railing like he doesn’t know he’s dead.

 

He doesn't look winded; there's no sweat, no flushed cheeks, no ache or burn of his muscles to indicate that he’s been running drills for the past half-hour, lodging ball after ball past Danny. It goes like that. His body is made of extremes now it seems - craving rest and then needing none at all.

 

"Stilinski!" The coach blows his whistle in one long hard breath and Stiles jumps, "Get your skinny ass back over here. You've got weeks to make up for and my doctor says no alcohol for a month, so I'm feeling sadistic."

 

Scott comes over to grab him, giving Lydia a happy uneven smile and she can’t help but  jump forward as Stiles leaves, reaching out to grab his jersey. The pull of fabric stops him in his tracks and he turns to give her an inquiring look.

 

Her heart beats out _don’t go, don't go_. it seems to do that a lot around him now.

 

There’s no answer.

 

Lydia releases his shirt and waves them off while the coach goes off into another shrill whistling spasm.  All throughout practice, Stiles gives her questioning glances and she smiles like being here doesn't hurt, like she doesn't want to go curl up under the covers of his bed and pretend it will ever be warm from him again.

 

An hour later, it's time to go home and Lydia is halfway through a textbook on neurological and psychological disorders. She pretends to diagnose herself - Narcissistic Personality Disorder, - and all her friends - Derek has a very obvious case of PTSD, Stiles, ADHD and Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder, Isaac is an abuse survivor suffering from multiple conditions. She could go into the ways that Allison mimicked symptoms of capture-bonding when her Aunt had been in town and how Scott is the most normal, but also the one everyone depends on whenever things get hard and someday he’ll probably break. She doesn't.

 

She joins up with Scott and Stiles, walking towards the parking lot, but the alpha quickly bows out when they near the woods - Kira joined the cross country team and that practice finishes in fifteen minutes.

 

Stiles stops when they reach his jeep and looks at her expectantly. It's strange how they're suddenly used to being next to each other.

 

"Want a ride home?" He pops open the blue door for her and extends a hand.

 

"Sure."

 

When they touch, his skin is cold.

  
  


**IV. For I have left my heart with you,**

**So don't you ever cry.**

 

 

"Sure. Let's go bowling?" Stiles drawls out, "Scott, you still suck at bowling even with your Wolf powers."

 

Scott makes an offended face. "Fine. No bowling - and I've gotten better you know."

 

Stiles watches his friends uneven jaw work back and forth in thought, chewing on the inside of his cheek. They are lounging in Scott's room, Stiles laying on the bed and his friend spinning in the desk chair lazily.

 

"How about laser tag?"

 

Stiles throws the tiny ball in his hand up and watches it bounce off the ceiling before coming down and smacking him in the face. He sits up to rub his nose.

 

"Several super powered supernatural beings with a penchant for violence playing an intense, battle simulation game? Nothing will go wrong there." Stiles declares blandly, but watching Scott’s face fall makes him reconsider. Choosing the lesser evil seems to be a default behavior now. "Bowling, it is."

 

Scott's already sending out a mass text.

**Interlude**

  
  


“It'll be great, he said. It'll be fun, he promised. He will also be the one with nine gutter balls and the lowest score in the history of mankind." Stiles walks past Scott cackling like a maniac.

 

"Dude, how are you even an alpha?" Isaac asks with absolute seriousness, staring at the digital scoreboard "I've _never_ seen someone bowl this bad."

 

"Shut up." Scott scowls and goes to take comfort in Kira's presence who is the ever optimistic not-quite girlfriend.

 

Lydia listens in, arms folded across her chest, and it's a cringeworthy amount of platitudes, but Kira has a silly, excited smile on her face and Scott looks at her like she's rainbows and sunshine. They are nauseatingly adorable.

 

Allison looks at them briefly, painfully, but Isaac is a welcome distraction.

 

"Whatcha doing?" Stiles' body flops easily next to hers, like the tissue inside is still flexible, growing and moving. Cuboidal, Squamous, Columnar: she read about the different shapes of human tissue once in a biology book, but it was a long time ago _(textbooks lined her shelves as early as elementary school_ ).

 

"Watching a disgusting love quadrangle unfold."

 

"Huh?" His fingers wiggle around, indicating the rest of the group and he whispers, "Them?"

 

Lydia scoffs and ignores his mocking tone. Stiles laughs again and it's nice. She can almost believe he's alive.

 

Every sound produced by a human involves the flow of air over vocal chords. Thinly stretched tissue delicately vibrating to create his laugh, his voice - the stupid little sound he makes when he solves a problem. Lydia looks at his pale skin, the forever bruises under his eyes and wonders how he does it.

 

Makes her believe in the impossible.

 

When Stiles smiles at her, dead and alive, she can't help but smile back.

 

"You like me a lot, don't you?"

 

He freezes and looks at her, his eyes soft and pained.

 

"Yeah. " Stiles pats his knees with his hands repeatedly, but is otherwise calm, like he's admitted this a thousand times in his head (he has). "You know that Lydia."

 

"Yes. I do." There's a lump in her throat for the dead boy who loves her, but Lydia swallows it and moves away from him. It's her turn.

 

**III. The love that's deep within me,**

**Shall reach you from the stars,**

 

"Yes!" Stiles' stands, fist pumping into the air, phone in hand. Everyone in the class turns to look at him except Greenburg who keeps his eyes attentively forward. Annoying little prick."I do love chemistry, but I bviously love history just as much.  So. Stop trying to persuade me. Scott."

 

Scott does a double take at his name

 

"It's really rude."

 

And scowls deeply at his friend.

 

"Sit down, Stiles." Mr. Yukimura sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I'm feeling a Great Depression coming on."

 

There's a beat of silence and the teacher peaks through his fingers encouragingly. A chorus of weak laughter filters through the class at his joke and Scott gives a wobbly smile to Kira's dad.

 

There's a joke about the stock market crash of 1929 and Mr. Yukimura’s pun somewhere in there but none of the students are interested in finding it.

 

Lydia is waiting outside the door when Stiles skids out of the room.

 

"Heeey, Lydia." He leans casually against the wall, like Lydia texts him everyday to meet her after class.

 

"Hello." She shifts and loads her books into his arms, beginning to walk away. "Carry my books."

 

He trails after her as they walk down the hallway - Stiles has never passed up an opportunity to be with Lydia Martin.

 

"I wanted to run some tests." Lydia stops at the chemistry room door, unlocks it and pulls him in, closing the door behind them.

 

"How'd you get those keys?"

 

Dumb question. Probably the same way he would have, but with more finesse and intelligence. She doesn't answer anyway, just raises her eyebrows conspiratorially at him.

 

For the next hour, it's Lydia poking and prodding and hitting his knee with a tiny hammer.

 

"Ow!" She looks up in surprise, his leg hadn't kicked to indicate any kind of synaptic response.

 

"Did that hurt?"

 

He smiles sheepishly at her and shrugs in apology. "No, I was just expecting it to."

 

Lydia frowns and goes back to work.

 

"What did I just drink?"

 

"Potassium sulfate." She's cleaning out a test tube because Lydia Martin knows the importance of lab safety.

 

"Did you just poison me?"

 

He waits for her to look at him but there's only a crazy half smile at the corner of her lips.

 

"Maybe."

 

Potassium sulfate is only a poison in large amounts. Otherwise, Stiles will merely have a severe case of diarrhea and his intestines will be prepped and ready for a colonoscopy should he need one sometime in the next 24 hours.

 

An hour later the bell rings for the next class and nothing has occurred. No pain. No discomfort. No unusual bowel movements.

 

"So, you can't feel a thing?" Lydia asks, twirling a pen distantly in her fingers and chewing on a thumbnail.

 

His body feels no pain or pressure which means nerve endings aren't responding, or the brain isn't receiving the message. No adverse reaction to the chemicals so no part of his intestines are properly absorbing - if at all. Lydia wants to ask if he even still uses the bathroom, but isn't sure at this point she's prepared for the answer.

 

His heart does not beat out _I love you, I love you_. It lies useless and mute in his chest.

 

Stiles looks at her and nods in confirmation, but thinks he misunderstood the question, thinks he failed this test.

 

**II. You'll feel it from the heavens,**

**And it will heal the scars.**

  


Lydia stands off to the side watching Ms. Mccall sew Stiles' arm back on. His arm.

 

"So, he can't feel a thing?" Isaac whispers, looking taken aback at the grisly sight.  Stiles is still human - in the loosest sense of the word. He has no super strength, no amazing speed, just the ability to endure unimaginable circumstances ( _Lydia believes this power is nothing new. His best friend turned into a werewolf and his first instinct was to **google**_ ).

 

"You turn into a werewolf. Fur literally grows out of your ears."

 

Isaac looks slightly offended, being judged for the unusual hair growth.

 

"Well, yeah! But I can still die."

 

A roll of Lydia's eyes dismisses the teen, who has no problem scooting off to Allison's side. Lydia's been a bit temperamental since they brought Stiles home completely missing a limb.

 

Not the Martin's home, of course. Lydia never liked hers that much anyway. It was cold, and splintered - the pieces of her family fractured into different spaces of the house.

 

This house is different and Stiles calls it home. She likes it because the Sheriff started making her omelets every Thursday morning and he knows how she takes her coffee and doesn't really question her strange appearance in their household - just rolls with it like every other oddity in this town. So, it seems that it isn't the word that carries as much weight as the people you share it with. Lydia wouldn't mind sharing it with Stiles and his small family - maybe that's why she can't stop ringing his doorbell at all hours of the day.

 

When everyone has left and its just them, Lydia is pacing in the doorway, glancing at him every so often like a puzzle she hasn't figured out. This scares Stiles a little bit because he's already been subject to her mad scientist tendencies once, but it also turns him on italicize phrase because he knows what she does to puzzles - tears them apart until the solutions are left bare and naked to her.

 

It's a sudden movement, a sharp right turn and Lydia moves towards him.

 

She kisses him, pulling Stiles up by the collar of his dark grey t-shirt, lips hot and cherry red against his cool, blue ones. If Stiles still had a working heart it would be leaping emphatically from his chest right about now. Hands immediately rise to cup her face, drawing them closer together until their noses hit. It's sloppy and all Stiles. Lydia stands there, pressed between Stiles legs, both of them pulling each other when she realizes only one of them will need air. Lydia’s eyes open and the ugly line of stitches wrapping around Stiles' bicep stare back .She jerks away.

 

The room is warm, but Lydia's breath comes out in cool, condensed clouds. Her pants break the collective silence. Stiles looks absolutely unaffected.

 

This is not true. Typically, his body acts like he still needs oxygen, pantomiming the living, inhaling and exhaling. Stiles hasn't taken a breath since Lydia's lips met his. he is literally left breathless from her kiss.

 

Haltingly, he wraps is long fingers around a loose piece of strawberry blond, twiddling it quietly between his knuckles. It's not the arm that got ripped off that touches her.

 

"Sorry. " his lips purse apologetically because he knows this injury unsettled her. "Damn, I've apologized for almost dying a lot lately."

 

She stands abruptly tearing hair from his gentle finger.

 

"Don't touch me." The words are bitter and spiteful, creating a wall around her

 

"Lydia?! Wait!" Stiles rises to meet her, blocking her escape and gently clasping her shoulders, "Why are you mad?"

 

He looks at her aghast, angry and confused??. Stiles can read Lydia very well, he knows how hard she tries to hide her intellect, yet how proud of it she is, he knows that she's still not over Jackson, or her parents divorce or Peters months of mind ficking for that matter, but he had always been oblivious to her concerns for him. Stiles still thinks he's the silly boy with the silly crush to her, doesn't realize that she's watched him make out with other girls and felt the depths of her stomach hollow out. The dynamics between them have changed and Lydia sometimes thinks she's the only one of them that truly acknowledges the growth.

 

"I don't understand how parts of you work and others don't! Why can you talk and think, but you cant bleed or feel? You died," She hisses at him, " and I'm still not convinced you're really here."

 

"Lydia." He breathes out her name like oxygen, like life, like all the things he doesn't need anymore and she wants to slap him. Him and his stupid undead face. Her fists merely clench furiously, perfectly manicured nails digging painfully into the palm of her hands.

 

"Lydia." He repeats, imploring her to believe him. "I'm here. I'm real."

 

There are tears prickling the edge of her vision and now she wants him to shut up because he says her name like its all he needs. Absolutely infuriating. It sounds like him and talks like him and she's been here before - tricked into believing that everything is okay, that she's losing her mind a

 

"I'm not going anywhere." Stiles wraps his arms around her. When did get so tall? she thinks as he tucks her into him. "Not yet."

 

A sob tears at Lydia's throat and there are comforting murmurs and small, tentative kisses being laid on the crown of her head that mean next to nothing, but she laughs because he's there. He's real.

 

And he's warm.

 

Not cold or hard, or steel or tin. He shifts around her and she can feel the tension break between his muscles, how he tries to hold her together even though he's falling apart.

  
  


Her heart beats out _I love you, please stay, I love you, don't go,_ and she thinks its loud enough for them both.

  
  
  


**I. They say you die twice.**

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Heartbeat by Childish Gambino
> 
> As always, I would like to sincerely apologize for any grammar mistakes. I've taken to writing the majority of these fics on my phone, and even when I transfer them here my editing skills are not great.


End file.
